


stabbed

by lateshifter



Series: Whumptober 2018 [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Blood and Violence, F/M, Supernatural Elements, Whumptober 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-07-28 05:14:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16234895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lateshifter/pseuds/lateshifter
Summary: Doug has a no good, very bad day.





	stabbed

It’s in a dark alley in North Western Michigan where Doug meets him. These days he doesn’t know quite what he’s doing except that Sarah has rubbed off on him. He no longer takes contracts to kill or hurt innocent people. He was never totally comfortable with them in the first place but he reasoned that it was what he needed to do to survive. Now he finds himself helping people more and more, stumbling into mishaps where he ends up being the better person. Like sure he didn’t actually return the stolen money that circus of thieves took but he put it to better use than they ever would have.

Today the man he has to meet deals in illegal potions, the type of experimental stuff discredited by the medical community but possibly the only opportunity for a group of young children poisoned after an industrial accident. Of course, Doug is getting paid for the part he has to play but he’s not charging as much as he could and that seems like an act of charity. A contact from back in the day put them in touch and so he waits for the guy’s beat-up gas guzzler to pull up behind the Circle K. 

The guy who on the internet goes by The Chemist is grungy and addict thin, rolling out of his car in a pile of oversized army surplus. Something tickles in the back of Doug’s mind. This isn’t quite right. A man like this he should have money, shouldn’t he? But maybe he’s eccentric or maybe he’s sent a lackey in his stead. For not the first time, Doug wishes he had Sarah’s gift of precognition. 

Doug steps forward to shake the man’s hand. Maybe he’s seen too many Mafia movies but when he’s doing semi-illegal things he tends to be overly formal. As he moves into the Chemist’s space he does get something, a brief flash, there and gone in the blink of an eye. It sets his teeth on edge and sends a chill down his spine. It’s too late though or he’s too slow to react. The man grabs his outstretched hand and pulls him in close until their bodies connect.

The air leaves Doug’s lungs in a sudden rush and he blinks stunned, unable to figure out what has frozen his body as surely as December ice in Lake Huron. The Chemist twists the knife and only then does Doug realize it is a knife. No ordinary knife in the way it cuts and burns, driving into his side, up under the ribs, twisting through his insides. 

Pale blue eyes stare at him from under a shaggy mane of dark blonde hair. They peer into his own, pupil to pupil, and Doug finds no sympathy there only jittery fear and satisfaction. The man twists the blade one more time and pulls it loose. Doug’s hands grope over his jacket, try to keep him there, but they move of their own accord to the wound, desperate to hold in the blood. His knees give under him and he lets out a stuttering gasp. The Chemist lets him slide down his body and collapse at his feet on the asphalt. Steadily, he steps back, wiping his mouth and turning on his heel to return to his car. 

Doug feels his energy seep away with his blood forming a little stream down the pavement. Yes, the blade must be magic because it still burns and twists even after being removed. It has taken something from him and he can’t even say what. The man starts his car and pulls away without a word. Doug lets his head fall to the ground and growls, cursing his lot in life, the man, every god he can think off. Of course, he’s going to die behind the Circle K. Killed by the agent for someone or someones he will never know anything about. He survived being shot at, poisoned, burned, drowned all for this. To be killed by a single knife. 

But he refuses to let that happen. Screw destiny, it will not so easily pull him from the world. Delirious with pain, blood loss, and whatever magical fever the knife has given him, he hauls himself across the ground. One hand drags while the other remains clamped on the wound, his legs kick ineffectually behind him. One of the nearby buildings has a basement window that opens easily and he slides through it, dropping painfully into a room full of dusty files and disused furniture. It doesn’t look like it gets much use.

He spends fourteen hours there, drifting in and out of consciousness, old tax returns from the nineties stuffed into the hole in his side. Finally, Sarah arrives as some unconscious part of him knew she would. She stares down at him in the dark, looking slightly haggard, all five foot five inches of her. 

“Quite the pickle, huh?”

“Yeah,” he mutters. A thin smile shows on his lips. He’s too tired to pretend he’s not happy to see her.  
In one smooth move, she scoops him up in her deceptively strong arms and carries him out, not even worrying about getting blood on her white sweater. He loses consciousness and misses how exactly they get back to the house she shares with Tim and Finley but when he next opens his eyes he’s there. A line of neat stitches in black thread run up the edge of his belly as he lies in Sarah’s bed. She sits in a chair that must have been pulled in from their kitchen, snoring softly. He reaches out to touch the ankle propped up on the bed beside his pillow and gives it a squeeze of affection and gratitude.

Sarah blinks sleepily at him.

“Hey, have any trouble finding me?” He asks.

“Only that you didn’t actually call,” she yawns. “Sixth sense isn’t too reliable.”

“Sorry, I was kind of out of it. Trying too hard not to die.”

“Yeah, I guessed it was something like that.”

She sits up, placing her feet on the ground, and ghosts a hand along his jaw before brushing her lips gently against his own. He kisses her back harder feeling strangely nostalgic. This is after all how it always was with them. Always would be if Sarah’s predictions of their futures were anything to go by. 

Later, he would figure out who had tried to have him killed. Later, he would follow up with the children and see they got the help they needed. Later, he would have another job to do. For the moment, he contented himself with healing and reacquainting himself with the one and only Sarah Lawless.


End file.
